A Response

I have finally received some real criticism for my essay “The war and the War” and I desire now to respond to these arguments. Here is the response from the anonymous person:

Good points....but I have 2 remarks:

1) how do you respond to the statement, "if we try to negotiate with madmen, we will eventually have the bomb dropped on us, eventually killing us all."

2) People in America aren't necessarily against the doctrines of Christianity, but rather the institution of organized religion. In history, we have seen much corruption and evil committed by a Church-sponsored nation cloaked under the auspices of "We believe in Jesus Christ". What do you care if someone's gay? Why is it your job to control the sexual orientation of someone, even if it's completely caused through environment? The problem people have with the church is its elitist power trip that it feels the need to inform anyone outside of their own of what to do.

I’m glad the first argument raised was in the form of a question. I guess my primary concern with the question, however, is the statement itself. The statement presupposes a lot of things, and I will each of these that I noticed.

1) “if we try to negotiate…” This statement first argues that we have not tried to negotiate with madmen. It was my argument from the beginning that part of our problem is that we not only negotiated with madmen, but that we had decided to trust certain madmen with weapons and economic benefits. It would seem obvious to me that we ought to stop providing madmen with these materials and benefits, whether we “trust” them or not. As of now, no madman has proved capable of dropping “the bomb” on us, outside arguably North Korea.
2) The arguer seems to see negotiation as mere nit-picking and not an actual active process that could possibly have a positive outcome. To me, the statement seems to paraphrase as “If we complain to madmen about their madness, they will, in fact, go mad on us.” This is naturally a possibility, but it is not always the case. If you approach a sinner about his sinfulness, he could certainly repent.
3) Both of our arguments hinge on the assumption that we are in the right and the madmen are wrong. While we are far from perfect, I think we can agree that the madmen we are (or have not yet) confronting are much further than we.

In short, I am not sure how to reply to this response when I am not sure the point at which it is attempting to get. If it is trying to force me to abandon my position due to the threat of “the bomb,” it has failed. God is in control of his-story, so I do not fear anything of which He is in control.

The second argument is interesting. I would probably have to agree with most of the reader’s argument. I might even go a step further. Not only are people outside Christianity disappointed with the established church, but people inside are equally (if not more) disappointed. I will leave the discussion of the history of the church throughout history to someone who is much better prepared to offer historical examples (and I might suggest the reader to do the same). However, I will agree that the church throughout time has messed up. I’m sure if Christ were to speak to us directly today, he would express his disappointment with the church as a whole. As I see it, the church as too much interest in doctrine rather than attempting to “act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with [its] God.” (Micah 6:8)

However, to say that the church ought to keep out of the world’s business is slightly ludicrous. The reader asks, “What do you care if someone’s gay?” I care because that person has allowed his perverse desires to lead him into bondage with sin. It is not, however, my job to correct this behavior. It is not even my obligation. It is my job to love, to love my neighbor as myself; to dislike the behavior but not the man. I will say that homosexuality is wrong, but so is a man looking lustfully at a woman, or a boy coveting his friend’s new bike, or a man allowing his love of sports to control his life and in essence become his god. But my duty is to try to live as close a life to Christ as I can. To fear God and keep his commandments. To shun evil and love good.

The church at times has been overly judgmental. It has seen itself as self-righteous even, likening itself to the Pharisee praising God for not being as lowly as the tax collector. The church has a lot of work to do, I agree, but the God whom Christians profess is very real.

Thank you for responding!!

as personable as mold in an expired container of cottage cheese

Welcome everyone to Cooks Forest State Park! I am currently nestled into bed in the heart of Western PA “roughing it” with my family for the week. Now when I say “roughing it,” images of lean-to’s and cooking eggs on rocks come to my mind; but to the Constable family, “roughing it” is far from archetypal. For example, we are in a pop-up camper, complete with three beds, running water, electricity, and a refrigerator. There is a bathhouse roughly 50 yards away from our location and the nearest child molester is quite possibly merely a stone’s throw away. As part of this journey (and further subtracting from our “roughing it” score), I have brought my computer to catalogue the action daily to give my take on the trip, and quite possibly larger issues upon which I will have much time to ponder.

As you can tell, the Constable Family Vacation 2006 is not a glamorous cruise or a jaunt along a shoreline before sunset or even a thrilling mechanical ride that flings our bodies at mind-numbing speeds. We are in Cooks Forest State Park, home of trees, squirrels, rivers, sunshine and tornadoes. My mom says we’re “pathetic” for coming here. My sister is horrified to spend more than fourteen hours without seeing her beloved boyfriend. My dad is really just looking for some time off work. And I’m mixed in my motives for coming. Practically, I’m here to rest, read some books, and write. Beneath the surface, I’m hoping I’ll find tons of time to spend with God and loving family. This is as much a spiritual retreat as a physical getaway. So frankly, Cooks Forest State Park, offers very few distractions from my intended goals.

Today wasn’t too eventful. We packed up and were able to leave by 1pm and took the relatively short two-hour drive to the campground. After settling in and eating a generous portion of my mom’s famous sloppy joes, we had some family come up and visit. I was most thrilled by the little Frisbee I was able to play with my seventh-grade cousin. One of the things I miss about GCC is the ability to find someone to throw a Frisbee with you anytime and anywhere. That alone is worth the tuition. After they left, my family played some cards. My dad won, and once I started on the sorry trail towards defeat, I started to become a little sour. My competitive streak gets the best of me sometimes. It never really comes out in friendly games at school, but when I’m home, I guess I feel like I deserve to beat everyone. Unfortunately that everyone included my family today, and though it was annoying, we were able to laugh it off later.

Perhaps the best moment today was when a man in a golf cart approached our campsite with a question. Now previous to all of this, we discovered that our electricity was out. My mom brought a TV so she could watch Big Brother (admittedly, a great show, but I could live without it for a week), and she became upset during the process of locating the channel with the antenna when the TV’s power cut out. Minutes later, we discovered the problem was not our camper, but the campground. Back to the moment, we were all playing cards outside when the man in the cart asked, “Do you folks have power?” Not even waiting for the nice plump gentleman to complete his quaint sentence, everyone but myself shouted back, “NO!” in a somewhat bitter tone. The man took the hint and scootered off into the sunset while my parents shouted an apology for their obvious unintentional rudeness.

Tonight’s entry will end here since it is 1 am and my eyes are getting a bit droopy. I can’t believe I’m following a sweet essay on war with a nonsense summary of my family’s vacation. But I guess that’s the beauty of a blog: Anyone can publish anything – there doesn’t have to be a theme. So for those of you eagerly awaiting some startling new philosophy on life, look to the Bible, not me. That’s where you will find wisdom, precious precious wisdom, more valuable than the riches of the world…

Hugs and handpounds

~Break~

Vacations never last as long as expected. Five days off of work and time to spend reading the Word and spending time with family and resting seems like a really long time, especially since a single day off work in itself is incredibly relaxing. But this vacation, though half complete now, seems like it’s almost over. Well, enough trying to attract pity, on with the show.

Day two started like every other vacation day in Constable history: late. I am merely guessing, but I assume that most families on vacation are out and about by 10 am. Psht, if you came to our camper at 10 am with all the intentions off immediately rushing off into town we would wearily ask you who in our family has been rushed to the hospital or if the campground has suddenly has caught fire. We greet the morning sun at 10:30 am and are usually not ready to do anything of real structure until noon. A despicable time, I realize, but a reality.

So yesterday we woke up at our usual late time, had our usual breakfast, and decided to go for a nice scenic horseback ride through the forest. Alright, easy enough. Well what we projected to be a one-and-a-half-hour jaunt turned into an outrageous three-hour adventure. Most of our extended family lives in the region we are staying in this week, so we thought it hospitable to invite my grandfather out to spend a day with us. Unfortunately, we had not made plans as to when he would visit us and told him that we would call him with the arrangements. Cooks Forest State Park is a cellular black hole. We tried as hard as we could to get a signal as we drove down the road towards the horse stable to call my grandfather, but not one of our four cell phones picked up enough signal to dial. What was most frustrating was my mom giving us an update every time the amount of bars she possessed changed. Here I transcribe a snippet of conversation during this too real car ride:

Dad: Alright, anyone have anything yet?
Breanna: Nope, no service.
Mom: I got one bar!
Tyler: Nah, I keep going in and out of serv…
Mom: Oh, no service…wait, two bars!
Dad: Should we stop?
Mom: Wait, no service again…
Tyler: Maybe we should just wait until we get to Brookville to call (it’s only eight miles away)
Breanna: How come we don’t turn around where we had two bars?
Tyler: It doesn’t work like that around here. Signal changes like the wind.
Mom: Yeah, one bar.
Dad: There’s the horse place there
Breanna: Why didn’t we stop?!
Mom: We have to call grandpa!
Dad: Brookville is right next to I-80, we’ll have signal there...
Mom: Ooo! Three bars!
Dad: You want to…
Mom: Oh wait, no service
Breanna: Go back to the place we had signal!
Tyler: Mom, why don’t you call as soon as you see you have signal?
Dad: We’ll be in Brookeville soon…
Breanna: Just go back! It’ll rain before we get to ride horses!
Tyler: Why don’t you…
Dad: I’M NOT TURNING BACK!
Tyler: I’m not talking to you! MOM, call when you get any signal!
Breanna: Why don’t we turn back!
Dad: Here…we’re in Brookville
(Everyone exits and makes phone calls, then gets back into car)
Dad: Who’s up for ice cream?
Tyler and Breanna: ME!

The horseback ride itself was interesting. The man running the stable made about nine too many sexually-charged statements and seemed to have a hobby in collecting jokes directed against women. For example, what’s the difference between a woman and a Pit-bull? A Pit-bull doesn’t wear lipstick. Yeah. So anyway, our guide was about as personable as mold in an expired container of cottage cheese, which made the trip slightly less exciting. My horse’s saddle had the name Onyx upon it (coincidentally the 66-point Scrabble word that clinched my victory over Erica last week), but was later told that his name was Junkyard, and I couldn’t have had a better horse. My thesis on horses is as follows: They are tremendously majestic creatures that are incredibly beautiful and strong (and probably trustworthy); however, they remain animals, and by that I mean that they are not humans and not as predictable. I realize that a well-trained horse will act however the trainer wants it to 99.9% of the time, but every time I mount one of these amazing animals, I can’t help but notice how inferior physically I am to it. That man has been able to subdue the horse is enough of a miracle in my book. In short, I mean to say that I find horses terrifying because of their brute strength, but so amazingly crafted by God that I cannot help but be attracted to them. Anyone who makes a living off caring for these magnificent beasts has my utmost respect. The trip in itself was pretty cool. My horse kept running into the horse in front of me (probably my fault, but can’t they see!?). It was also the only horse not to shamelessly relieve itself or attempt to snatch a snack off the nearest tree. When I nudged him right, he went right, and when I pulled back, he stopped. Junkyard was a gem, and I thanked him kindly afterwards for the scenic adventure (and for not pulverizing me).

Day Three was slightly more and slightly less eventful. First the slightly more… We planned on taking a canoe trip down the Clarion River on Tuesday. I use the word “planned” loosely, for we merely penciled it into our schedule of things to do that day. Planning would have meant research. But we did things our way, and that meant waking up at our usual time and eating our usual breakfast and meandering about getting ready to depart before eventually making it The Pale Whale Canoe Fleet at 1 pm. My dad exited the car to get some preliminary details and returned quite enraged. The only trips offered after noon were four miles long, only a 90 minute journey. Needless to say, our plan for the entire day was destroyed. We were pretty disappointed (some of us more than others), but immediately tried to do something else on what turned out to be the most pleasant day of the week (in regards to the weather). So instead of asking our grandfather to come out Wednesday as “planned,” we called him to request that he come out that evening. He couldn’t, so we spent the day lounging around camp relaxing. I didn’t complain; in fact, going into the vacation, I figured that we would have free time most of the time, so I was able do some reading. We went out to eat that night, and I got sick from the meal, and I won the nightly card game (Texas Hold’em), and all in all, it was a great day.

Day Four started out much differently. We were determined not to sleep away our final opportunity to go on a decently-sized canoe trip, so we woke up at the unheard of time of 7:30 am and ate a quick breakfast. We were at the Pale Whale by 8:45; it opened at 9:00. After some awkward small-talk with an unfortunate nearby staffer, we gathered our rented paddles and PFDs and piled into the van and trucked up the river. Our driver tried his best to chat with us, but eventually we ran out of questions to ask complete strangers that you have no intention of seeing again. I do, however, remember that he attends PSU-Behrend, a member of the PAC, Grove City’s athletic conference. Why Behrend does not call itself PSU-Erie is beyond me. Before the name change, Erie was probably the best branch campus option; after the change, I’d have to lean towards Altoona or DuBois, just because they’re fun to say.
Anyway, the canoe trip was great. My mom and I manned the first canoe while my dad, lovingly nicknamed the Pale Whale due to his choice to be shirtless and shamelessly pale, and my sister paddled along in the other canoe. The Clarion River has an average depth of three feet, which is actually the deepest it has been in a while. If there were a canoe trip designed for people afraid of water, this was it because one could see the bottom of the river wherever one traveled. Things were frustrating at the start since few of us ever had paddling experience (especially with my canoe since my mom and I seemed to always be undoing what the other would do), but once we got a few miles in the trip, we were able to relax more and take in the scenery. We finished the trip faster than the average time, which surprised us, and left the Pale Whale (the canoe fleet, that is) feeling much better than we had Tuesday.

My grandfather came up that night, which was good. We spent the last part of the night relaxing and reminiscing before we had a huge chicken fajita feast that night. I forgot to mention before that we had brought along a TV. My relationship with the television has deteriorated since going to college. I have done some reading, and some thinking, and some more reading, and while I do not feel like outlining an entire position against the overindulgence in TV, I mean to say that TV is definitely something I can live without. My mom, on the other hand, loves the TV. I can’t blame her, nor do I judge her, for I, too, waste my time on various other things. So we brought the TV with the slim hope that we could pick up the signal to watch our favorite primetime shows. It just so happens that our campsite had full cable hookup capabilities! While I may have went a little overboard with my comments on how watching TV wasn’t really camping, I eventually gave in and watched Big Brother (such a good (yet trashy) show). That night, we also played 500 Rummy. I’ve played a few games of Rummy in my day, but this was not only the greatest game I’ve ever played, but quite possibly the greatest game in the history of the game. Every player led at one point and everyone had had their highs and lows (except me. I was slow and steady picking up about 50 points a hand and being the one who goes out before everyone else). Nevertheless, we came to the final hand with everyone within striking distance of the necessary 500 point goal. In the final hand, every single card, every single one of the possible 500 points, was played. The result was that every player scored over 500 points, my sister hitting 500 exactly, and my dad scoring 545 points. It was amazing. I’m sure you’re sharing in the excitement.

As I write, I am home participating in a free online poker tournament. There were 16500 entrants and I am now one of 9035 remaining in the tournament. That may explain why my style has been shoddy throughout the latter part of this entry. I hope to write a wittier, lengthier entry soon. I pray that you all are making the most of every day. We ought to be using every precious God-given breath for His glory.

The war and the War

Hello hello! Last night was the 230th birthday of our great nation! Though we have many problems and are a nation divided, I am still reminded of what it means to live in the freest country in the world. Those who say we are not free are foolish. We have freedoms people all over the world would die to obtain. As a Christian-American, I do not have to fear persecution unto death on a regular basis.

The war and the War

Version 2.0

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

~1 Corinthians 3:4-8

Imagine 55,000 people killed every year for something in which they believe. We can hardly fathom this being possible in America due to our numerous freedoms, but it’s happening to one group of people you may not expect: Christians.

According to a recent study, 55,000 Christians are persecuted on average annually. It is an impressive figure and one I decided to compare to the death toll in the current Iraq war. Since the war started on March 20, 2003, a total of 2539 American soldiers have died. But I must take it further, for American lives are no more precious than Iraqi lives; to exclude all others killed by the war would be an injustice. According to Iraqi Body Count, around 40,000 civilians have died. Though sources vary (greatly) on the following figure, approximately 10,000 additional Iraqi insurgent troops and police/guards have died in the conflict. In short, in the nearly 40-month war in Iraq, around 53,000 people have lost their lives in the name of war, 75% of whom never picked up a weapon.

Every year, more Christians are killed than the amount killed in the present 40-month Iraq war. Taking the per-month average and multiplying it by 40 months, 183,333 have died in that span, nearly three-and-a-half times that of the Iraq war. 183,333 Christians killed for proclaiming Christ as their Savior, for adhering to the Great Commandment, for praying for those less fortunate than they, for building churches, for feeding the poor, for clothing the naked, for nurturing the sick, for visiting those imprisoned, for giving drink to the thirsty, for essentially adopting children and caring for their every need, for knowing the Almighty God.

There are clearly two kinds of war that we wage today. The first war, the war against Iraq and “terrorism” (as if one can destroy an idea with bombs), is a war that must cease. I have heard enough of the showy politicking: a war for “liberation”, “freedom”, “security”. I am probably not a good Grove City Republican (though I have no political affiliation) in writing this, but this is what I know: that war, an expression of hatred, can never and will never be more effective than peace, an expression of love. And what is “effective”? It is simple; our goal is peace, and the only way to achieve peace is to practice peace. War cannot breed peace, as hatred can never breed love. Only love will do. Jesus said, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.” (cf. Luke 6:27) These words are not accepted today as applicable, but they must be.

The war apologist is shouting, “What of the attacks? What of the terrorists? Do you not remember the Towers and the anguish of that day? They capture our soldiers and kill them without remorse! They want to kill us all and then hang our bodies naked in the streets! Do you seriously suggest that we lay back and let them build armies and bombs to destroy us all?!” They are all valid questions and what they assume is probably correct. They want us dead and will do whatever they have to do to wreck havoc on us all. “Why?” seems like a logical question to ask. I don’t have an answer, or even any concrete guesses, but it seems like a great question to propose. Also, the use of revenge as a reason for war (and ultimately, to end all wars, as it has been said) will never result in peace. Wendell Berry writes, “The logic of retribution implies no end and no hope. If I kill my enemy, and my brother kills his brother, and so on and on, we may all have strong motives and even good reasons; the world may be better off without all of us…The essential point is an ancient one: that to be peaceable is, by definition, to be peaceable in time of conflict…It is not passive. It is the ability to act to resolve conflict without violence...In the face of conflict, the peaceable person may find several solutions, the violent person only one.” (Wendell Berry, Peaceableness Toward Enemies in Sex, Economy, Freedom & Community, 86-87) Dead-on words. I enjoy reading the essays of Berry, but in writing this essay, I could not help but be reminded of this passage. Killing only leads to more killing; and no matter how “prominent” or “dangerous” a madman is, there are always more madmen in the making. As I understand it, there are plenty more madmen scheming about how best to destroy the world; we seem only to be unconcerned with the madmen we can trust (probably through some economic exchange, but I merely hypothesize).

But Berry’s greatest contribution is that peaceableness is not passive and it is not intermittent; it is active (even assertive) and constant. It is something that must be true during war and peace. And it is more than a process; it is an attitude, a conviction even. It is being patient, kind, content, humble, gentle, charitable, quick to be merciful, slow to anger, protective, trusting, hopeful and perseverant. (cf. 1 Cor. 3:5-8)

We have not been a peaceable country in the past, but we can start. If there were any country that would have the greatest impact in taking the first steps to peace, it would be the United States. We have the most weapons and enough nuclear bombs to kill millions in a second. We also possess the greatest economic influence and can stop supplying our trusted madmen with weapons to later turn against us (or others). If we truly are the greatest, freest nation in the world, we must take the greatest, freest step imaginable in working towards peace. I do not endorse disarmament or the destruction of nuclear warheads or the dissolution of the military. I merely endorse a philosophy that has been and will always be: Love.

As for the current war in Iraq, I can only mirror the statement made by Jeannette Rankin, the first woman ever elected to Congress and the only person to vote against World War I, World War II, and the Vietnam War, concerning her plan for Vietnam: “boats…lots of boats.” Bring our soldiers home. A man with a gun to his head will obey orders to be peaceable, but only when the gun is removed can the foundations for true peace begin to be laid. Stop the death. Stop killing the innocent. Stop killing the children. Come home.

The second is the true War, and the one we have been fighting from the beginning of time. It is the War spoken of in Genesis 3:15:

“And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and
hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.”

The words are from God to the serpent that tempted Eve into sinning in the Garden. The verse here sets the stage for the rest of history; it designates two seeds or lineages, the seed of the snake and the seed of the woman. God says that the two seeds will hate each other, but ultimately, the seed of the woman will prevail (Christ’s victory over sin and death on the Cross, as well as Christ’s return to destroy Satan once and for all). It is God’s first action on the path to Christ, since man has now fallen and is in need of a Savior. It is also God’s first statement of setting aside his people. Throughout the Old Testament, both the seed of the woman and the seed of the serpent clash (i.e. Abel/Cain, Jacob/Esau, Israelites/Pharaoh, etc). Satan’s rule over death and sin ultimately ended on the Cross on which Jesus Christ died. The clash was not complete, however, because man still sinned and the world in which he lived was sinful. The battle, or War as I will call it, continued through the New Testament and continues today.

Want proof? 55,000 Christians die every year for recognizing themselves as part of the seed of the woman, one of the Children of God. Christians, when not persecuted, are laughed at for believing in something the world cannot see and scorned upon for trying to spread the so-called love of Christ. In America, Christianity, the bedrock of this country when it was founded 230 years ago, has been expelled from schools, removed from nearly all political decisions, and trampled upon by our perverse sins, i.e. homosexuality. Christianity, according to today’s culture, is anti-intellectual, unnatural, superstitious and hypocritical. It seems like as time marches on and the War becomes more intense that Christianity is losing the battle.

But it is not, and it will not. Statistically, Christianity is experiencing phenomenal growth outside the Western World. The number of Christians in Latin America has doubled since 1970, with the amount in Asia and Africa tripling in size during that same period. Annually, Christianity grows 1.25%, despite the 55,000 Christians persecuted and petty attempts by the seed of the serpent to win the War in this world.

The final victory belongs to Christ and the seed of the woman. God has never backed out on a promise before, and being an unchanging, everlasting God, he cannot. Each one of those 55,000 Christians live by the words of Mark 1:15: “’The time has come,’ [Jesus] said. ‘The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!’” They know the words of Paul: “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Phil. 1:21) They have fought the peaceable War: they have loved their enemies, blessed they that curse them, done good things for those that hate them, and prayed for they which despitefully use and persecute them (cf. Luke 6:27). The War they fought was one they were guaranteed to win. Though they, like a person in war, have died being peaceable, they know that “when a peaceable person is killed, peaceableness survives.” (Berry, 88) They have found the greatest weapon of all, and it is astoundingly not made of radioactive explosives or toxic poisons. They have discovered love, love received from the Father, and go out to all the corners of the earth boldly proclaiming God’s perfect Message in full knowledge that “love never fails.” (1 Cor. 13:8)

~fin~

That took a really long time to write, but probably the essay about which I am most passionate. let me know what you think! Pray for those facing persecution. Pray for this war. Pray for the persecutors, and our enemies, and your enemies. The time is near, there's no time for hatred.

And my bubble will be here in the morning

Hello friends! I hope you are having a terrific, restful day today. I’ve been so busy this week with work and hanging out with friends that I haven’t made the time for rest. It is such an important, overlooked part of life. It is especially important in living the Christian life because it is when we are most fatigued and most weary that we become most vulnerable to sin. I’ve rested a lot today, and I don’t regret any bit of it. My guitar and I finally had some good times together (as I wrote that I picked it up again and played for half and hour).

Yesterday was officially JOP 4. While the meaning of the letters JOP are reserved to the knowledge of official JOP members only, I can tell you that it is a gathering of some sweet people who became super good friends at the end of their senior year last night (some might admit, unexpectedly). We were originally going to go to Toronto for a sweet road trip, but some parental issues and probably planning issues were a bit in question, so we settled ultimately on my backyard (very close to Toronto). All in all, it was a really cool time. We (Roland, Erica, Rebecca, myself) went out to TGI Fridays first and had an exquisite meal as I had to step out every so often to call a leader in the youth group to make sure things were still on for the night. As the lesson-planner originally scheduled for the night backed out, I stepped in and filled the lesson-presenting vacancy, unfortunately on the day I had set aside two weeks ago for the JOP. Regardless, the meal was fantastic and Roland and I had a good (nerdy) time making our tips out so that our total credit bill would be on a whole dollar while Erica reluctantly defended herself and her pseudo-lover (not really). I had called her the night before to iron out a few details for the day, and she said at 10:00 that she was actually on her way out the door and didn’t tell me where she was going. Hence, I dubbed her hously departure a Booty Call and demanded details at dinner. It was what I guessed it was, a reunion encounter with a kid that lives on her street. Not as shady as I thought. I guess beforehand we went to see Superman Returns. If you’re sitting at the computer now with wallet/purse/money clip/cash money yeah yeah yeah/Hamilton in your hand ready to go deposit it into the bank of your local movie theater to see the 157 minute show, don’t. I can’t say that I would pay to see it again. They should call the movie Lois Lane Has Issues because the film revolves around her, rather than the too-super, characterless Superman. The previews that center around the action scenes showcase about all you’ll want to see in the movie. No real fight scenes to speak of, alas. Before the movie, Roland, Erica and I went to Sheetz to buy stuff to smuggle into the theater. We spent entirely too much time there, but the most memorable part was Erica ushering me back arm-in-arm to the back of the store just to show me that there was a refrigerator door with the name Tyler on it. She busted out laughing, knowing that there isn’t any real legitimate reaction to expect from seeing such a door, and she commenced to say that my parents named me after a door that hadn’t existed yet 19 years ago in Allentown, PA. After the movie and dinner, I went to youth group while the rest of the crew went home to relax and medicate themselves (quite literally, for everyone seemed to have a headache). We rejoined at my house, where we had a quaint little campfire started purely off of gasoline, motor oil, charcoal starter fluid, ink-saturated pieces of newspaper, sloppy joe grease, oh, and a lighter. After three wicked tumors and a hole in the ozone, we had a nice time around the campfire, where I brought up my language ideas again and still found too much opposition. After the usual campfire stuff, Rebecca left because of her illness (probably from too much Roland…or toxic fumes) leaving the Three Musketeers behind for the night. We played a few games of pool, then relaxed for a bit in the hottub before swimming in the pool. It was here that we concocted a series of ridiculous races and competitions, with me (naturally) being the overall champion of the world (for there were three countries represented between us). After we battled a million bugs at the doorway back into the house and resumed our posts in the basement, Erica knocked herself out, leaving Roland and me to play FIFA world cup all night (from 4-6 am). It was quite extraordinary. All in all, a good night, and now I’m friendless (or so it seems) for 2 weeks as Roland is gone to Korea for the summer and Erica departs for Ireland and other random European spots for 2 weeks. Sigh.

I didn’t mean for that to be that long, because I wanted to say something a little more amusing and worth reading outside the four people involved in the JOP. My parents received new cards from our health insurance providers today, only to discover that they neglected to include one for me. Befuddled, my mom called the money-guzzling company and inquired about the missing health card. They told her quite bluntly that I am not insured. Once I had turned 19 and entered college, apparently my parents were supposed to fill out some form to include me in the plan (which they had), but the company didn’t process it, leaving me uninsured since my birthday in November. Thankfully I haven’t died or broken any limbs! My parents, always psychoticly cautious, then informed me that I am not to be injured until July 1, the date I become insured again. They didn’t want me to drive. They didn’t want me doing any sort of physical activity that I could get injured. Regardless, they let me drive tonight to Barnes and Noble to renew my membership and buy a Neil Postman book, The Disappearance of Childhood. The funniest part though was that I had to tag along with my dad and my sister to drop her off at a friends house for the night so that I could pick up my car from the garage (don’t get me started on my car). My sister has her permit, so she usually drives in these sorts of situations. Once my dad realized that I was in the back seat, he ordered my sister out of the driver’s seat so that he could drive and keep me safe. Once on the road, my dad sarcastically barked, “Is your seat belt on tight.” I nodded and quipped, “And my bubble will be here in the morning.” All in all, good family time. But I really can’t afford to die until Saturday. After that, I might drive on the left-hand side of the road or see if swallowing dishwasher detergent really is harmful. I’m not too concerned though. Quite frankly, I always have my health and life insurance with me at all times, and that is Christ, for if I am injured, he is with me, and if I die, I am with him.

I’ve been missing school a lot lately. I can’t wait to go back in the fall. I can’t wait to see all of my friends and get back to the routine of studying. Year one of the “best years of my life” was amazing; I expect year two to be all the more amazing.

For the record, this is my second consecutive entry written before midnight (accepts applause). Have a great day everyone, and God bless.

Later Days!

On Christians and Atheists: Part I

Hello all! I hope your day is coming along just splendidly. I am in-between a double-shifted workday today and have decided to use my three hours of downtime to transcribe and post a few of the essays I have written recently. They are slightly more polished than the previous ones, but are still definitely in rough draft mode (especially if I were to turn them in as Edwards papers). Nevertheless, these first three essays are more on the atheist side of the coin, with the first and third parts having a more apologetic approach, and the second piece with a more critiquing angle. I hope they give you something to think about. I must admit that I am most proud of the third piece, for I have never thought about the origin and progression of language before until I wrote this essay, so all the glory goes to God for such profound thoughts (at least, they were profound at the time for me). Here we go...

On Christians and Atheists

Part One

I. God Made Nature Beautiful

How can God not exist? How can one not admit that, as seen in nature, there is a power greater than he? When a man gazes upon a pristine sunrise over a ocean, an image more majestic than any masterpiece, does he not feel an Artist at work? When he looks upon rolling mountains packed with trees of a billion shades of green against the sunlit sky, does he not appreciate the vastness and beauty of this unadulterated land? When clouds break up the sun’s omnipotent light into a thousand beams, scattering them onto the hills, houses, and people below, does one not ponder that another being is trying to touch us?

You say, It is all science. You say, the sunrise over the ocean is merely the refraction of light, and if we really wanted to, we could use our hi-tech computers to predict what the sunrise will look like tomorrow (as if the flight of seagull or the foam of a wave were predictable and able to be represented perfectly on a screen!)

Or you say, It is of necessity that nature exists, because without it, man could not survive. You claim that because humans live, it is necessary for nature to be the way it is, because if nature were different, we wouldn’t be the same creature. Therefore, the sun must rise and trees must be green and clouds must even sometimes scatter light. You may be right in those cases, but it does not capture the essence of the argument. It may be necessary for the sun to rise, but the sun must not rise beautifully. That a sun must rise to sustain life is irrefutable. But that a sun must shine light against an early morning sky and bounce light off at various angles and multitudes to the eyes of an onlooker is not necessary, but it is beautiful.

Whether we accept it or not, the issue returns to man and his construction. It is necessary for man to live under the sun, and one could argue that it is necessary for man to have the ability to see, but what, dear reader, makes man see beautifully? Why does man stand as the lone appreciator of nature? Why can man, along all the beasts, see the sunrise over the ocean as beautiful?

It is not of necessity that man sees beautifully, for man depends not on beauty to survive and sustain. Man was made to see beautifully because the Maker made a creation worth appreciating as beautiful. God made Creation not only to be useful, but to be beautiful. It is God’s way of saying, “I am pleased with what I have made; appreciate it with me!” That we see the sunrise, the tree-clad mountains, the sun-scattered landscape, the clear night sky and the eagle’s majestic flight as beautiful is not necessary, but a gift. It is the gift of communion with the unseen Creator, God.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” ~Psalm 19:1

II. A Battle for Nothing

If it is true, as atheists believe, that there is no God (or as agnostics believe, that it is impossible for man to know God), then why do they spend so much time and effort arguing against something that does not exist? Because there is nothing there in their eyes, they cannot be said to be fighting for anything.

It is as if they are telling a young boy that Santa Claus does not exist and then becoming offended when the young boy tells him that there is. And they do not get angry in the way one gets angry as if he is the only sane man on earth; they get angry in the way one gets angry as if what he is up against will annihilate his way of life if it is not destroyed. It is the killing of Santa Claus for fear that if enough people actually believe in him, the world will start wearing red velvet suits and pointed shoes with bells on the toes to work and expect everyone else to do so. He is fighting against what is to him, a fairy tale.

If the atheist or agnostic cannot be fighting for anything and against a mere fairy tale, what is the purpose of fighting at all? If God is merely a fairy tale created my man, what’s the harm in letting Christians believe in him; after all, eventually every kid “comes to his senses” and stops believing in Santa Claus, why not God?

The opposite side is this: Christians have something worthy for which to fight. For if they are correct about the existence and reality of God (and they are), there is a burden placed upon them. They have the truth; they realize that Jesus Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and that no one enters God’s promised Kingdom of Heaven except through belief in his death for man’s sins and resurrection to authenticate his claims. They know and posses what many men strive to obtain their entire lives but fall painfully short: the Truth. If Christians are correct, how ultimately important it is for Christians to talk to the atheist or agnostic (in love, of course, since that is something Christians have, or ought to have, given that “God is love.”) in the saving of their soul. Christ came “to seek and to save what was lost,” and every Christian has that same call to spread the Message of eternal life in Heaven with the world.

In summation, the Christian has everything to fight for; the atheist has nothing but the satisfaction of being right (that is, until he dies).

III. The Phenomenon of Language

How does the atheist explain the phenomenon of language? This question, perhaps above all, stumps me. How is it that man has developed such a vast array of languages if it were not at Babel as described in the Scriptures?

The first conjecture one would make is that language is a product of a region or civilization. While it is true that languages are spoken in regions, it does not make languages products of those regions. Sure, the Eskimos have thirty names for snow, but it is not the snow itself that makes the Eskimos have so many names for it. People living in Japan are likely to speak Japanese, but the oddly-shaped island never made them do it. The idea that geography dictates language is silly. I may depend on an apple to live, but the apple never introduced itself to me.

Thus, the second conjecture: language is simply a product of evolution. On the surface, this seems reasonable. Man needed the ability to communicate more information to describe its surrounding and other life-essential things and thus created a series of sounds to symbolize these things. But what, dear reader, makes the sound systems, these languages, so different? If we are all human, as I can assume we are, then are we not all built the same? All healthy, breathing people have the ability to speak. If we were all crafted in the same image (and for Christians, that image is God), then we ought to have evolved the same; that is, if language is a product of evolution, we ought to have developed the same language. Our minds and bodies are the same, so our instinct (if it can be called that) to speak would be the same, and the language we create should also be the same according to this theory.

The problem is this: there are too many and too different languages in the world today. If you’re still on the evolution bandwagon, let me offer you a situation. If man started in Mesopotamia (for example), then man’s first language was universal. As the land became more populated, people spread and encountered new things and these new things needed new words. So man created them. As time went on, man created more words for more things, but by now, there need be no further explanation for I can make my point here and now. Man started with a universal language; and as time expired, he took the freedom of creating new words. Cultures and peoples used these words, but they merely adapted their previous language base in doing so. In other words, if man started with a universal language base, there ought to be some evidence of it. But there is not. Linguists can prove that some languages are “related” to others, but they have not discovered an Alpha-language.

And they will not. Evolution cannot and will never explain why languages are so diverse. No matter how long something is drawn out over a seemingly infinite period of time, it does not make a thing any less miraculous; nor does it provide an explanation for the facts. A fact is that German, Japanese, Afrikaan, and English are incalculably diverse. No span of time can explain the changes in words, sounds, and sentence structure exhibited by these languages. No linguist can trace these languages to the Alpha-language. It seems as if only a super-human force could have caused such a multitude of languages.

There is a much better answer to our predicament. The third and final conjecture can be the only true one. It states that man did once possess one universal language and a common speech; and then encountered one jealous super-human force that changed the course of speech forever. The story is that of Babel as explained in Genesis 11. Man had one language; but then sought to become like God and reach heaven. Their vision was to build a tower larger than that the world has ever seen, but their motive was prouder. They sought equality with God. They desired the ability to boast that they could do all things without God. After all, it is the oldest sin in the book, dating back to Adam and Eve, and their craving for the knowledge of God. God knew that the people’s universal language was what was uniting them to this cause – so he “confuse[d] their language so they [could] not understand each other” (Gen. 11:7).

Babel fulfills both of our logical requirements: first, that man had developed a universal language; and second, that something greater than man had to have made such a vast assortment of languages with seemingly no relation to each other. The one-then-many through evolution hypothesis fails the second requirement, for mere geography or time could not have made language so diverse. Only God could have created such a queer mix of symbolic sounds for such a queer creature, and I can but smile knowing God put our mouths into such a curious mess.

~end part one~

On The Marriage Protection Amendment

A few weeks ago, my first couple weeks back from school, I had heard all of this glorious dialogue about a Marriage Protection Amendment. I am not even sure of my opinion, and I will give the following arguments for my indecision.

First, I believe that same-sex marriage is an obvious assault on the institution of marriage. Biblically speaking, marriage is between a man and a woman. Additionally, homosexuality is a sin (Rom. 1:26-27). That’s further from the point. The family is the basic foundation of any society. A basic family is a mother, father, and their children. If it can be broken down further, it may be said that sex (respectably used), is the foundation of family, for families could not exist without sex. The qualification of that statement deserves an essay itself, but that will wait for another time. Families have been damaged by the improper and disrespectful abuse of sex. To “fix” the problem (that is defining the problem as that of families and not of the abuse of sex), society has attempted to redefine the family, or at least what is left of it. It should go without saying that families today are in the worst shape they have ever been. Divorce and single-parenthood (including absentee parenthood) are at an all-time high and a traditional family is not too traditional anymore. Our perversion has led to an increased interest in same-sex relationships based on a confused view of sex. Instead of checking our definition of sex, we have attempted to redefine family, and thus the attack on marriage. Marriage is between a man and a woman; don’t shape the definition of family around your wicked desires.

Second, I am quite sure that governments should not be the ones attempting to redefine marriage. While the definition sounds like the Christian (and correct) definition, I firmly believe that government should not see themselves as able to protect marriage, for doing so would mean the government has the authority over marriage, which it does not. The only solutions are local solutions. No problem will ever be fixed completely by government legislation, it takes the actions of individuals, families, and communities for any real progress to be made. Marriage, no matter how much legislation protects it, will never be safe as long as sex remains to be practiced outside of it. Is this saying that marriage will never be safe? On this earth, probably. But individuals and families can influence communities to practice love inside the institution created by love.

On another note, I often wonder why atheists or agnostics marry. If they don’t believe in God, who created marriage, then why would they indulge in joining into them? It must be purely for economic or social status reasons, but that is pure cowardice.

Okay, I’m done. It was fun. Hope to hear what you think!

Later Days!!

Update

I didn't want to leave the world wondering what I'm doing with all my time - or frankly, the lack of it - so this will be an uncharacteristically short post.

I spend time doing the following things, and this is a pathetically comprehensive list:

1. Work: My jobs own me. When I'm there, it's not that bad, but it's just the times that I work that makes it bad. For example, I could work four days in a row alternating 5-6 hour day/night shifts, and then work 8-hour shifts on Friday, Saturday and Sunday from, say, 12-8. It's horrible because I don't have a consistent time to plan on doing anything else and it's hard for people to contact me if they so desire. The work is okay, I just need some stability.
2. Sleep: Whether sleep or work has consumed more time is a tossup, but days that I don't work until the afternoon, good luck seeing me conscious before noon. Mmm, sleep.
3. Reading/Writing: I've read some Wendell Berry and G.K. Chesterton this summer so far, and it has been uber-sweet. I've always been a fan of writing (as I hope these entries can prove) and thus have been writing a few essays and thoughts down with the intent of eventually making them a little more concrete and understandable. For example, the last entry with those two short essays are examples of things I've been doing. I'm writing an extended piece called On Christians and Atheists at the moment. It has been a pretty rewarding experience just to think about the utter basics of the world and everything in it. I originally was going to transcribe the essays onto this site tonight, but I work tomorrow morning and have to sleep very soon. Anyway, I hope the essays will be thought-provoking at the least, and perhaps God can show me things I never would have thought of as I continue to ponder the basics of life, the Christian, and the atheistic or agnostic mind.
4. Random adventures with JOPers:For those of you who don't know, JOPers are some amazing friends from high school in the journalism program that really bonded towards the end of last school year and last summer. We've been like peas and carrots this summer, hanging out sometimes 3-4 times a week, but recently has tapered off to a time or two per week, given hectic work schedules and Erica hanging out with a person not to be named (that's actually not a legit reason, but I want to poke fun at her, you see).
5. CALLNET: Like the name or not, its my only link (outside Facebook) that I've had with Grovers, and I have really enjoyed it. Perhaps I shall outline my reasons for not using AIM anymore in a later essay, but it has really been great to hear people's voices and to hear them laugh and get excited when telling me about their lives so far this summer. If there are any CALLNETers out there, keep it up! We still have two months to go!
6. World Cup: I'm not much of a soccer fan, but when it comes to the World Cup, I LOVE IT. I watch way too much of it when I should be sleeping. Enough said.

As sad as that is, that's a pretty exclusive list of the things I've been doing. Next week, some JOPers are hopefully going on an overnight camping trip somewhere to hang and gell like fellons with melons.

If you get the chance, pray for me. I'm going through some hard times now that I'd rather not discuss here, but pray that I can find my joy in Christ and not the world. I've started to dig a hole and I think I'm at the point where I realize only God can pull me out. I would appreciate it.

Later Days!

A Call For Beasts To Teach Men

I’m back! Now I didn’t see any comments in the box from my last post, but I am just assuming that people are too shy to post or they were too paralyzed by my hilarity to mechanically type a comment onto the screen. I prefer the latter, but if the former is the case, I so encourage you to leave something just so I know you visited. If I am merely talking to myself, then perhaps it was worth it.

I worked a few days at Pretzel Gourmet, went to dinner and a movie with Roland and Erica, and got to talk to a few people from Grove City in the past week. Other than that, I’m doing some reading at the moment. I’m in the middle of three books, which seems like a daunting task (okay it is), but I’m managing quite well. Since they’re all nonfiction books, it makes things a bit easier. The first book I started is by my favorite author, G.K. Chesterton, entitled The Everlasting Man. Most Chesterton fans argue that it is his greatest apologetic, so I figured I’d give it a shot. The second book is by my second favorite author and philosophic mentor, Wendell Berry, called Sex, Economy, Freedom and Community. The title sums up the book. Before you write it off (pun certainly intended) as a boring book, it really brings up a lot of good points (so far) about America’s educational and economic systems. If you want to read an absolutely thrilling piece from the book, click here and tell me what you think.

I had a lot of time at the store today to write, and I wrote a lot more than I anticipated I would. I’ve decided to post what I wrote here. If these were meant to be true essays, I would have polished them more than I had; therefore, I intend the following to be more of a discussion spark than a definitive point on an issue. It is open to criticism, but this is something that was just floating in my mind today.

A Call For Beasts To Teach Men

It’s a shame how people write off the old. They are not the waste of space the country makes them out to be. They only seem that way because we make them like so. When someone hits age 60, the only jobs we offer them are small-scale janitorial work or greeters at Wal-Mart. We hide them from the places they really ought to be: the public.

Why? They simply have more wisdom and knowledge than we do; and in our turbulent times, we could certainly use their assistance. Despite man’s cry that that was their generation and this is ours, man is still man and there are many things our elderly population knows that touch on the foundational aspects of mankind. They worship the same God, struggle with the same earthly sins, have fought for their beliefs (something less common today), know what it means to work for a living and a life, manage a household, love a wife, children and land, and have learned the importance of being thrifty and perhaps even frugal, especially in turbulent times.

No dishwasher, television, Internet connection, XBOX 360, Hummer, birth control pill, pleasure-increasing condom, cyclone vacuum or robot has changed man’s essential responsibilities. Technology and time have not changed man, but merely culture. Man will always have to love. Man will always have to fight for what he deems right. Man will always, as it always has, fall short of the glory of God. Man will always live on land, whether rural or urban, no matter how many feet in the air. Man will always have a finite sum of money. If one denies any of these, he is not a man and truly the one that is a waste of space; for he might as well be the beast, living purely for self and always consuming, and locked up on a cage.

This is what we have done to our old people. We have dubbed them beasts and claimed that they ought to be in cages (“homes”) because all they do is consume. We have trampled upon the responsibilities of man in our culture today in favor of pleasure, money, and ceaseless, bitter competition. We live for our selfish desires and deny humanity’s responsibilities. We have locked up the true men to let the beasts run wild.

This is not to say that the entire elderly population is righteous and the rest of us condemned as fulfilling our role as humans, but our view of the elderly as a hindrance on society and the youth as the truly wise shines a bright light upon our culture. The youth have not experienced what our elderly have; it’s time we reverse our current presupposition and have the former learn from the latter.

Our youth need to learn what it means to live a responsible life, and who better that those who have spent their lives living it (or not living it and dealing with the consequences) to teach them. It’s time we let the “beasts” out of their cages. The elderly ought not to be secluded from mainstream society or reduced to a lower class. They may no longer contribute to the economy (or, for some, the Economy), but what they possess collectively is something far more valuable: wisdom and a history of lives, however they lived them.

Release them. Let them visit schools. Allow them to be active in parks, malls and markets. Moreover, listen to them; they have plenty to talk about. They know more about what it takes to tame the true beast: us.

A Thought On Wal-Mart

For a store that has “everything,” Wal-Mart lacks the canon, books that have wrestled with the human condition and have stood the test of time. Rather, they sell what will make them the most money: bestsellers and romance novels.

Fools and Whores and Sad Highs

The band Augustana is more accurate that they perhaps envisioned when they penned, “We’re nothing more than fools and whores and sad highs. We’re living in a wasteland.”

Against Bratz

Walking down the aisles of the toy section of a department store, I discovered a lot about our present culture. The girls’ play doll section struck me in particular. Now enough has been said about Barbie regarding the near impossibility of a human female having her body proportions and how she has become increasingly immodest over the years. While Barbie has endured her share of attacks, it was a new breed of doll that most disturbed me.

The line of dolls, Bratz, is larger and thicker than its archetypal thin counterpart. Bratz are mostly dark-haired and have fuller lips than the blonde, thin-lipped Barbie. But what makes a Brat a Bratz is its attire, or the lack thereof. Every miniature Angelina Jolie look-alike wears clothes one would expect to see in a red light district. From short skirts to halter tops to leather high-healed boots, Bratz pack the attitude of a whore on her way to a night’s work.

Bratz even come in baby edition! They are scaled up in size so its human playmate can cuddle with her easier, but they still wear the same sleazy itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka-dot bikini as its elder sisters. Bratz are plastic prostitutes sold to children.

So what’s the big deal? Children aspire to become like their playthings. Boys who go into with GI Joe wish that they will someday become a war hero. Girls who play with horses hope that some day they will be as magnificent as the animal they hold. Girls that play with Bratz cannot put them in roles as housewives, teachers, business leaders or politicians. Bratz are bad; they make their own rules and morals, defy parents and live in the moment. Bratz are whores and girls who spend leisure time with these dolls can do nothing but pretend to be a whore and immoral like they.

If the unknowing girl fails to recognize the doll as unacceptable, she will assume her attire (and suggested implications of that attire) is acceptable. Unless an adult tells her that Bratz are prostitutes, they girl will see nothing wrong with promiscuousness.

Do we really want to glorify prostitution to our children? What makes the Bratz so appealing in the first place? Is it because they are more lifelike? I doubt it. Most girls will not achieve the beauty of Angelina Jolie. It is either because they are not Barbie, or because of their dress. They are “trendier,” thus more provocative.

It appears as if the pattern of wearing this “trendier” style is now starting increasingly younger. Girls in high school exhibit fashion that only the most daring college students would wear. Middle school-aged girls, instead of going with friends to a movie, take trips to Victoria’s Secret. The world places such a high standing to beauty that it has started to have damaging effects. School-aged girls should not be concerning themselves this early with how they look compared to other girls. It inevitably turns into a competition to discover who can dress most like the scantily-clad models on European runways and Abercrombie & Fitch catalogs.

The Bratz attitude has got to go. Immodest dress is not acceptable and can only lead to trouble, especially for younger girls. If you’re ever considering buying your daughter a Bratz doll, don’t. Instead, buy her a good book and spend time together reading it in the evenings. You, instead of a prostitute, will then be her role model.

I must be making enough money to make Ted Turner turn green

Welcome welcome to the blog where everything is made up and nothing matters. Okay, I jest; everything is not made up and I like to think that at least some of this matters. I hope to keep up on this a little more than I did in January on break. I think what had made it so hard to keep up was the massive amount of words I poured into each one, which frankly, left me quite exhausted. I welcome you to pop a pack of Buttery Kettle Corn in the microwave and slip on your Easter Bunny slippers because this is sure to be a fun ride.

I want to give everyone an update, firstly, on my job situation both here and in Grove City. Unfortunately, both announcements are on about equal excitement levels, so I’ll go in alphabetical order. At Grove City next year, I will be working in the Curriculum Library, a very convoluted way of saying “The Education Library” at GCC. Yeah, how about that! And if you thought that was as crazy exciting as Barbaro breaking his leg at the start of the Preakness today, try this on for size. This summer, I’m working at the same old Pretzel Gourmet #133 in the Nittany Mall! Hooray! Now everyone can put on their Camelbacks and hike on out to that cozy little craphole in-between State College and Bellefonte and take advantage of me and my petite pretzel products. To those of you who know how painfully long I’ve worked at the PG, you probably think that I’ve officially lost everything or that I must be making enough money to make Ted Turner turn green, but alas, I’m a nostalgic guy who just loves cranking out pretzels to overweight State Collegians. So come visit me (unless you’re a stalker, then I work in the Kitchen & Bath section in Lowe’s Home Improvement on Vairo Boulevard. Yep)

Break of one day

I only spent about ten minutes writing what I did above before I was interrupted by some extreme fun with my good friends Nick & Kam. I feel like the ampersand (&) was appropriate because they really are like the other famous ampersands: Abbott & Costello, Kobe & Shaq, Ben & Jen (whoops), Will & Grace, Peanut Butter & Jelly. Yeah, they’re that tight. I had my first day of work today under a completely new staff. I only met one person today, my new manager Marie. Marie is quite a character, and I say that in the most complimentary way I can. She has a really deep, gruff voice (I assume from years of smoking) but she does not have one mean bone in her body. She and I spent the day getting to know each other, but she did most of the talking. She’s enthusiastic about what she’s doing at the PG, which is certainly hard to come by at the establishment, so I’m excited (or as excited as can be expected) to work behind the old counter again this summer.

Break of two days

I really just need to post these every day as I do them, but then I fear that no one would read them if they didn’t match up to my usual standard, whatever that might be. There is a lot of stuff that I could talk about, but I will dismiss most of it that I deem unnecessary. For example, I could talk about going to Nacho Night with friends and how nice it was, but then everything I do starts to become newsworthy, when in reality, it is not. I want this to be a place where I can write what I want to write about without feeling obligated to write only about things that happen to me. I might want to tackle some tough issues at some point, and for that, I need to be beyond Nacho Nights and get-togethers. If something extravagant happens, then you’ll know about it; otherwise, just assume that I do indeed have a social life and I fill my time wisely. (I think that paragraph was just more for me. Erase it from your memory if you desire)

A Year at Grove City: A Review

Something I do want to talk about is my first full year at Grove City. A lot of people before I left told me that I would come back a changed person. Despite hearing this, I couldn’t fathom how much a place could change me. I was right; the place didn’t change me. Sure, being away from home and anything familiar was a different experience, but to say that it changed me as a person would be a lie. Nay, it was not the place, but the people. I apologize if this sounds cliché, but of the entire college experience, the people were what changed me the most. God blessed me with the most wonderful group of friends I could ask for. Living on a freshman hall is something I will never experience again! No one beforehand even hinted to the fact that above all the schoolwork and activities college has to offer freshman year, living on a hall with 37 guys for the first time of your life would be what would shape you the most. My RA’s, John and Andrew (Mom and Dad, respectively), truly were my parents away from home. Through the good and the bad of the year, their door was always open and it was amazing just being able to walk in and have a serious conversation about life and God no matter what the hour. They set the tone for our hall. Their mission was to unite our hall as a team, and they were mighty successful. We did everything as a hall, from meals to competitions to pranks to singing to girls from the inner quad, we were a team. Bible study every week gave us all the opportunity to see into the lives of each guy. Those testimonies were precious, every single one of them. Watching those guys tell us how God has touched their lives was one of the most amazing experiences this year.

Into the second semester, certain groups of people became closer, whether through fraternities (Omicron Xi!! Another fantastic group of solid Christian guys who have challenged me) or natural gravitation, but we were all still hallmates. I made some amazing friends and had some even more amazing conversations. I miss the conversations. I will miss those conversations the most. I won’t miss those specific conversations exactly, but the brand of conversation; the kind of conversation that forces you to dig deep down within yourself to put together a whimsical argument to which others are so eager to listen. Mindless conversation has it’s time for sure, but when it becomes habitually mindless, you have to question the relationship.

Beyond the hall, I met some amazing women of faith. Outside my family, I have seen very few women of mature faith in my life, or at least I haven’t been in regular contact with any. Before college, I hadn’t really thought about what the girls would be like at Grove City. I probably had the notion most people outside the college have: pastor kids who would rather eat worms than hold hands with a guy. Grove City girls go above and beyond that stereotype. As much as I loved living with men of faith at GCC, I gained some of my most valuable lessons from seeing and interacting with women of faith. They taught me that the purpose of seeking interaction with humans of the female gender does not have to be seeking a romantic relationship. Of most (if not all) of my past female friends, I have felt pressure at some point to take the step beyond friendship. I usually haven’t acted upon it, but there has always been a stupid thought in the back of my head that says, “She’s a girl, and you’re a guy, what’re you waiting for?” Guess what? You really can be friends with a girl. There doesn’t have to be that pressure. The pressure only exists because you let it. I think I always had in the back of my mind the idea that if I was friends with a girl and I was spending so much time with a girl, that I should expect some sort of relationship beyond friendship. What a crazy thought! If you stop expecting, you’ll stop feeling pressured and end up making crazy decisions. The key word here is expect; I’m not saying that one shouldn’t ever seek out romantic relationships (even with friends), but when friendship turns into an obligation to stress over relationship possibilities, it gets messy. I can’t say that I learned this the hard way, but rather the easy way. Outside the relationship revelations, the girls I’ve come to know and love dearly at GCC really have been amazing friends by the fullest extent of the definition (“A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts”) and I cannot thank them enough for their encouragement and inspiration. Now I hope my statements above haven’t officially been dubbed my philosophy of relationship-seeking, because it is not and is not meant to be something overanalyzed. It is, however, something I found worthwhile discussing.

Finally, the people behind the classes: the profs. Of all my classes, my Foundation of Education sequence was by far the most challenging in that it forced me to truly think about my philosophy of schools, education, people, and life. Dr. Edwards did a fantastic job at making us think about what we were reading and being able to come up with arguments to support our beliefs. True education is and will forever be between a soul and a soul, no matter how many computers you try to throw at it. It is my duty as a teacher to become a text-person for my students and lead them to live responsible lives. I could talk about education for hours on end (ask Erica), something I couldn’t have done intelligibly had it not been for Dr. Edwards and his class. The other professors were fantastic as well (Dr. Thompson really got me to like three-hour Calculus tests), and the challenging experience really made for a worthwhile year.

College was a spiritual roller coaster. It was wild in that I had so many experiences I had never had before. Who knew there were worship songs other than hymns?! Who knew that sharing the Gospel to inner-city delinquent children would give me a rush unlike any other? Who knew the true power of prayer? Who knew so many people so willing to talk about God spontaneously without it feeling awkward? God took me by surprise this year. He really challenged me to hang onto my seat and follow him. What a wild trip it has been; I can't wait to see how he uses me this summer!

There’s the college report. I would write more, but it’s 2:00 am and I need to sleep. Tune in soon for more updates. Until then, sucks to your assmar!

I Always Hate Turning On Lights Everywhere I Go

Hello!

Thanks for checking back here! Usually once school starts and people start doing “college stuff,” people kind of start to trail off into their studies. Hopefully this is a welcome distraction; if not, eh, why not make it one.

So, I have to start first by talking about perhaps the most exciting thing this week…my Aunt Luanda successfully drove her 1954 Ford F150 down the street to the post office where the office had been stock-piling her mail since 1996. It’s truly an amazing story…if it were true. Of course I’m talking about the Steelers thrilling and much deserved win over the (overrated) Indy Colts team, 21-18. Now, if I’m keeping track of what the score of the game should have been, I’m counting 31-10, at least. Pittsburgh truly thrashed the Colts, and I don’t even think my good ol’ pal from Indy, Mike Gallo, could argue that. The O-Line couldn’t keep the pressure off Manning and he was colder than the shoulder I always receive when I ask cute girls at the Pretzel Gourmet if they would like the regular- or large-sized Smoothie. Troy Polamalu was the most insane player on the field for Pittsburgh. Nick Harper deserves major props on the Colts side. Here’s a guy that gets slashed with a knife to his knee requiring three stitches the night before, injures his other knee during the game, makes some key tackles, and finally the fortunate fumble recovery that could have won the game had not Big Ben made the Pontiac Game-Changing Performance of the year. Anyway, the refereeing was the worst I’ve ever seen. Pass Interference, a no-call on a false-start/offside penalty, and the biggest abomination in sports this millennium: Troy Polamalu’s interception called an incomplete pass?! Troy intercepted the pass with his right hand, clutched it to his body, hit the ground with his left elbow, then his right arm, then touched with every single body part besides his pancreas (I think I even saw a tooth touch), before attempting to get up whereby he knocked the ball out of his possession with his left knee (a fumble), which he then recovered. A long sentence, yes, but here’s my theory on what really happened:

CBS Exec: Oh boy, guys, we’ve really got ourselves into a pickle now. The Patriots lost, now the Colts could lose…no one is going to watch the Steelers and Broncos, there’s no storyline there! We have to overturn this!
Ref: [enters replay booth, making caveman noises] Uhhh, why me here?
CBS Exec: We have no storyline for the game next week unless the Colts win, make up a rule to overturn this penalty.
Ref: Ug, um, there no rule
CBS Exec: Yes, yes, I realize, we need the Colts to win, go ahead, make up some crap and give the ball to the Colts, thanks. [click]

Honestly, if those refs with a clean conscience called that replay indisputable video evidence that the interception was photoshopped into Troy’s hands, I’m going to watch Synchronized Swimming from now on.

There was a major breakthrough in the science world last week. Apparently scientists in Taiwan have successfully bred the first “through and through” fluorescent green pigs. Yes, these pigs have been genetically mutated to exhibit a glow-in-the-dark skin tone that turns “torch-light bright” when blasted with a black light. Taiwanese scientists hope to use there genetic mutated pigs to further research on human stem cells. Brilliant! Allow me to be the first to sign up when they offer fluorescent human skin. I always hate turning on lights everywhere I go. Can you imagine the pork loin you’d get from those swine? Yum.

So time at the Pretzel Gourmet has been interesting. I would complain thoroughly about one new fellow who doesn’t quite stack up to the rest of the PG crew and with whom I got in a little odd confrontation, but I’ll give you an abbreviated story. So, Johnny (identity protected) showed up exactly one hour late to work the first day I was supposed to meet him without giving me a call. Okay, so bad first impression, but whatever. I open the next day and the store looks like garbage, and the owners called and I made them aware that the store looked as disgusting as Auntie Anne’s and they instructed me to jot down all of his shortcomings (pertaining to labor, duh). My list was pretty lengthy, and at the end I wrote something I shouldn’t have, but at the time I thought would have helped him work harder (since I understood that he was already on strike two). In short, I told him to put some pride into his work and that he did a good job other than the things I listed and that I was confident he could do better. Well you don’t pull on Superman’s cage and you don’t spit in the wind at the Pretzel Gourmet anymore according to Sir Johnny, who wrote me a note saying that I shouldn’t tell him how to do his job, and proceeded to write down the parts of my job I didn’t do (which, objectively, were exaggerated half-truths, and not near the extent of his lateness and poor closing). Alright, so I step out into the store and it looks like the filming of Twister 2 took place on-site in the Nittany Mall. I was displeased, but not surprised. So Saturday rolls around, and I’m thinking this kid is going to start busting caps in me even though I’ve only seen him in person for two minutes, and he confronts me during busy time. Beforehand, I had really been regretting telling him to take pride in his work, and repented for that and prayed that his heart would be opened. In our conversation at the store, if you could call it a conversation (it felt like a lecture to me), he refused to hear my calm argument. I did manage to get my apology out, which was all I wanted, and I still have nothing against him, I feel sorry for him. He was scheduled to leave at five and he left at 4:30 without telling me and with customers waiting. Needless to say, he was fired. I pray that God would be with him and help him through his obvious struggles.

Since I’ve been working daylight shift at the PG and no one frequents the mall, I have a lot of time to think. One such thought came to me yesterday. I’ve decided officially that I desire to be British. If there were a way for me to revoke my Americanness and trade it in for the original Red, White & Blue, I jolly well might. You see, while helping a British family at the register for about three separate visits within an hour, I fell in love with the dear chaps and their hilarious selves. I’ve met about three British people in my life, one in my family, and the other two yesterday, and I have to say they’re some of the jolliest, gentlemany people I’ve ever known. I’m pretty sure I was destined to be British and somehow have found myself on the wrong side of the pond. Firstly (or should I say lastly?), my last name is Constable, clearly British or United Kingdom-esque and would be a much respected and revered name in the Isles. Furthermore, I think I could pull off the look. Just give me some new threads and enable me to debrace the work of my braces when I was a young sprout and I’d have the teeth, nose, and fantastic fashion sense to fool any Englishman of old. And also, my favorite band (and the greatest band of all-time), Athlete, is from there! Finally, and perhaps the best part, the bloody language. Let’s just have a sample of the conversation I had with a British man (Robert let’s call him) and woman (Anne), both about my age.

Tyler: Hi! How can I help you?
Anne: Hello, sir!
Robert: Hello good chap! How is your day going?
Tyler: I’m doing fine, thank you. Uhh, can I get you something?
Anne: Yes, sir. What’s the difference between your large and small hot dogs?
Tyler: Well, the large hot dogs contain a quarter-pound of the meat, and the small ones are…smaller.
Anne: Oh that’s mighty fine. I’m sure a small hot dog will suffice.
Robert: Yes, yes, a small hot dog will do.
Anne: May I have a small hot dog please?
Tyler: Sure [rings it up]. Anything to drink?
Anne: Ah, a bottled water do ya have?
Tyler: [Having already had too much] Yes.
Anne: Oh great! I’ll have one of those as well.
Tyler: [retrieves hot dog and accepts cash] And for you, sir?
Robert: Ah, I’ll have a small hot dog as well.
Tyler: Anything to drink?
Robert: Ah, brilliant…eh, do you perchance have a medium Diet Coke?
Tyler: Yep. [rings it up]
Robert: Cheers!
Tyler: [Retrieves food and accepts payment] Thank you, sir, you both have a good day.
Anne: Oh thank you so much. You do the same, sir!
Robert: Yes, likewise. Have a fantastic day m’boy!

After their dismissal from the counter, I could not help but smile at the completely adorable exchange that had just expired. But as the voices rang through my head for the next few minutes, I decided that the girl’s voice was the greatest voice I have ever heard. Yes, you can take your Brent Musberger’s, Joe Buck’s and Al Michael’s and drive to Indianapolis to attend Peyton Manning’s Pity Party 2006; I’ll take the voice of that sweet lovely young British girl at the store yesterday. I fancy I shall hear it again someday. Brilliant!

I want to take a quick moment to give a shout-out to Roland and Rebecca. Roland complained that in my last entry I didn’t talk about our Wing Night Adventures. After I informed him that they weren’t really adventures and merely trips to Prospector’s on Thursday nights for really good wings at a minuscule price and cheery conversation, he blushed and ran away. In fact, Roland and I did go on an adventure. After we dropped off Rebecca, we went rummaging through Wegman’s! I’ve only been there a few times, but that place is ridiculous. We actually only went to check out their dessert displays, which are ridiculous, but they had shelved them for the night. So we went to the international section and I learned that all just-add-water bowls of noodles manufactured in Asia are spicy. Jolly good time! Regardless, the JOP’s live on, and this Thursday will mark the season finale. We’ll have four there Thursday (hopefully, Nev! [angry parent look]) and it should be a good time.

Guitar has been coming along decently. I’ve written a song, or at least I have thought of a song and I sing it at work and I’ve tried to put chords to it but I’m not sure if they’re correct. In any case, it’s a sweet song but not yet publishable or performable, I’m just giving you all the heads up.

It has taken me two days to write this entry, and I feel more sorry for the readers than I do myself (even though it takes me a good 2-3 hours to do this). I was sitting at the PG today looking out into the mall and realized how truly blind I am. Place anything more than four feet in front of my eyes, and I can’t make out any details. I see an outline and if I’ve been exposed to it at this distance numerous times I’m sure I could identify it, but otherwise, my eyes are useless. My eyes only see what is near, what is immediate, what is now, in detail. I’ve been thinking a lot about my calling lately. I’ve been delving through scripture, reading Max Lucado’s Cure for the Common Life, and praying and praying and praying, and today I’ve made a connection. My eyes and their deficiencies are just like my connection with my Father; I can only see what’s in front of me, what’s now. God doesn’t want me to see more than four feet in front of my eyes because I have trouble enough seeing three. When I’m praying, I’m asking for God to give me perfect vision, eyesight that will allow me to see my destination in life, my purpose and calling, which will allow me to reroute my life towards that goal. Life doesn’t happen that way. He’s not going to tell me, “Psst, hello, Tyler, here ya go! I want you to drive the space shuttle in 2028 to Mars to obtain the cure for cancer!” Nope. Nor will I hear, “Okay, quit asking me! I want you to teach Calculus in State College for three years, then four years in Kentucky, and then become a sports broadcaster for ABC until Joe Paterno dies, which will happen in 2054.” But that’s what I want. I like seeing the road. Why? So I can make sure I get there. Oh wait, there’s the problem: it’s not about me. Nope, try again. It’s not about me being comfortable, or “well-off,” or famous, or self-absorbed; it’s about Him. I want to see His plan for my life so I can get there. Again, wrong pronoun. He is the one getting me there, not me. I’m not in charge!! How can this be? If I’m going to please you, I need to know what to do! And God replies, “I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out – plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” (Jeremiah 29:10-11 Msg) As a believer in Christ, the future I hope for is one that pleases God my Creator to all praise is given! If that is my true hope, God has a plan for it and he’s executing that plan today just as he executed it yesterday and will execute it tomorrow and all tomorrow’s to come. I’m not in control! What?! Are you nuts! Get it back! Ever think that God could prove his love to be all the greater by taking away control. If I knew the plan and were in control, I would mess it up. I’d draw a straight line to the finish and end up crawling over mountains until I sat down frustrated that I’ve lost my way. So what does God do? How do we get there if we don’t know where we’re going? He lets us do what we can do. He says, “Tyler, talk to this man,” and “Tyler, read this and tell me what you think.” He loves me too much to say, “Tyler, your purpose in life is to teach English in Germany,” because he knows I’m the kind of guy that will be on the next flight to Hannover, looking up private schools on my laptop all the way. And I miss the point: Him. If I do it all on my own, then where along the way can I say that God was responsible, that God deserves the glory over me. I can’t.

Max Lucado writes in It’s Not About Me:

“He knows your limitations. He’s well aware of your weaknesses. You can no more die for your own sins than you can solve world hunger. And, according to him, that’s okay. The world doesn’t rely on you. God loves you too much to say it’s all about you. He keeps the cosmos humming. You and I sprinkle sawdust on oil spots and thank him for the privilege. We’ve peeked under the hood. We don’t know what it takes to run the world, and wise are we who leave the work to his hands.”

It’s not about me! And thank God it isn’t, I don’t want that responsibility. It’s all about Him; and Him working out His plan for His glory. I’m merely sprinkling sawdust. Thankfully, my eyes can only see four feet in front of me clearly. Sure, you can give me glasses, contacts, or surgery, but those are all temporary fixes that merely hide the facts. My job is not to see far away, but to see close. My job is to look for Him in the things I can see. What good is it to look at things far away? It will only be blurry and I will end up making costly conjectures. “But if you have trouble seeing things four feet in front of you, how do you expect to see God who is infinitely far away? someone will ask.” Nay; I like to think that God is not infinitely far away but infinitely close and I just haven’t the strength to focus. All I can hope for are quick glimpses of Him at work and have faith that God will work all things out according to His plan. And when it’s all over and I’m reunited in Heaven, He will give me new eyes that will see all and I will behold the most glorious sight of all, the face of my Creator and the fullness of his glory!

I’m pumped now…but it’s time for bed. It’s time for yet more God-pondering and pretzel-producing at the Gourmet tomorrow morning.

Later days!

I Was Robbed at Cane-point by an Elderly Gentleman on His Way to Albuquerque

Welcome!

So I was looking at my old LiveJournal, and it was looking pretty horrific. Seriously, the thing was varying shades of bad and wasn’t attractive by any stretch of the imagination outside the handsome Steelers logo. So I’m here, and I feel a little better in that I have my own website by some stretch of the imagination and it looks way cooler than the other side of the pillow as of now.

However, this place is much more sophisticated and I feel as if I have to have a BA in Computer Science just to indulge in its majesty. Who knows, by varying shades of bad may be my home, but I’m going to enjoy my run here while I can.

It has been a really embarrassing long time since I have updated and to attempt to bring everyone back up to speed with my life would be first, very uninteresting in the long run, second, very taxing on my mind, and third, a bad idea. So I’m going to stick with the new, rant about a few things that have been on my mind lately, and see where this goes.

I’m starting to think that by having a “blog” I am therefore condemned to write about what irks me in the political, economic, or worldly realm. The difference between a blog and a journal probably should be different, but I’m not going to let that scare me. Perhaps I’ll keep things a little more professional, but I prefer to be my usual, ridiculous self than to give in to hoity-toity establishments.

I opened Explorer today and the first headline included the words “Joe Pa.” Before I read the content, all I could think was, “oh geez he died!” As the page loaded, I remembered that Joe Pa is (duh) immortal and went on without skipping a heartbeat. The story, found here said that Joanne Tosti-Vasey of the National Organization for Women in Pennsylvania (NOW) was appalled by statements made by our beloved Joe Paterno last week at a press conference when Paterno commented on the nature of the suspension of Florida State linebacker A.J. Nicholson. Paterno said:

“There's so many people gravitating to these kids. He may not have even known what he was getting into, Nicholson. They knock on the door; somebody may knock on the door; a cute girl knocks on the door. What do you do?"

“Geez. I hope - thank God they don't knock on my door because I'd refer them to a couple of other rooms," Paterno continued. "But that's too bad. You hate to see that. I really do. You like to see a kid end up his football career. He's a heck of a football player, by the way; he's a really good football player. And it's just too bad."

Mrs. Toasty-Facey failed to put in her hearing aid (or perhaps reading glasses) and heard/read: “Those damn women are always parading around college students hoping to get sexually assaulted. They knock on door after door until they find someone they recognize from ESPN College Gameday and go in for the kill of the player’s college career. Thank goodness they have never knocked on my door because I’d call down Levi Brown and Calvin Lowry and have them show her a good time. It’s all in good fun, she gets what she deserves. All women suck and should stay away from men unless they’re married and then not be able to wear clothes…yeah, that’d be nice.”

In short, Mrs. Tosti-Vasey can take her and her burnt-vased friends and start picking on all of the other prestigious upright men in this country. While you’re at it, why not accuse the President of thinking women should all be textile workers and Bill Cowher of seating his wife in the press box instead of making some play calls on the field. Joe Pa, just ignore the pesky National Organization for Women. Last time I checked, the NOW was right below the ACLU and the KKK on the list of America's worst organizations.

On a lighter note, I’ve started to learn how to play the guitar. As soon as you read that, some sort of emotion escaped your mind, and I’m willing to place bets that it was either the thought of pity, scornful laughter, “Silly Tyler”, “He just wants girls”, or “You’re finally becoming a man.” I appreciate the encouragement, but I’ll lay out my reasoning now:

1. Boredom. (I sense you are still lacking sufficient reason, so I’ll continue.)
2. I’ve considered myself moderately decent at writing, and feel that songs might be another outlet of my creative energy. (You are saying, “Okay, but you still haven’t debunked my argument.”)
3. I’ve always been one who has loved to perform in public, and while journalism has allowed me to do so in writing, there’s nothing like live music.

I doubt I have swayed everyone, but I guess those are my reasons. If I end up sucking, I will have gone through the experience with calloused fingers, knowledge of guitar tablature, and some words trapped in the depths of my mind finally in song form. Ah, that was better. Progress has been surprising actually. The first time I picked it up, I tried tuning it by ear (who ever heard of electric tuners?) and broke the 1 string (whoops). With a fresh set of strings and some time to contemplate whether the broken string was a sign from God for me to stop, I picked up the portable music device and strummed away. My dad proudly whipped out his old songbooks, and pointed me to Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May” as the first of my songs to learn, which I tried, and then went online and found the Athlete song, “Wires,” which I preferred much more. So I have spent the past two days with hurt fingers but a determined spirit and have done pretty well (I think). Some will say that I’m too late, but I figure if I want to learn, this is pretty much my last chance.

I want to dispel some rumors. I have been walking down Allen Street quite a bunch (not really) and heard some people chattering about some handsome man returning to the Nittany Mall to work a petite pretzel store, the Pretzel Gourmet. Yes, those rumors are true. The other ones claiming that I was robbed at cane-point by an elderly gentleman on his way to Albuquerque are only moderately true…the cane had a gun inside, but he was so nice! Anyway, I have returned to the PG under a measly salary and am now the only person working at the store whose permanent residence is in State College (insert exclamation or scornful comment). While I am the most experienced, I am the most underpaid; while I am the most recognizable to the mall patrons, the crew is completely new and couldn’t pick me out of a police lineup. So I guess you could say things have been interesting, but I’ve met some new people and it has definitely been a different experience. Holidays have sucked, and when people at the mall wouldn’t stop coming, my mood was usually unusually snappy. But I endured (with God’s help) and things are peachy now.

I have to add a specific moment to my archive of PG Ridiculous Moments. This is probably the moment that confused me the most. Okay, I lie, when one customer complained that his Icee was too airy, that was a bit confusing if not stupid, but this moment is up there. Before requesting a 21 ounce cup of our world-famous Strawberry Sensation Smoothie (oh, they’re sensational all right), one young woman inquired, “Is the yogurt you use active yogurt?” Yeah, we have our yogurt base in the back running on the treadmill to keep it’s calories down. Let me go make sure it’s in its target heart rate zone. Completely blown out of the water, I drag the yogurt box to the counter and prop it up so she can read the label. “Okay,” she sighed, “It’s not active, I can’t have it. Bye.” C’mon yogurt! Bring up that heart rate! You’re slacking today! I’m adding three more miles to your run today. I now know that when customers ask about our yogurt, I will politely tell them, “Yes, our yogurt base is 5% low-fat and inactive. If you’re looking for active yogurt, either supply us with a yogurt trainer or hit the road, buddy.” I’m working there until I leave for the Grove once again on the 20th, so if you’re cool, come see me!

As I said before I stopped leaving regular posts, I have been reading quite a bit now that I have had more time off. If you’re interested in some good reads, I will suggest Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz. It’s a good mystery novel that is deeply entertaining. I am also in the middle of The Man Who Was Thursday by Gilbert Keith Chesterton (probably my favorite author) and also recommend that book for those looking for something to do.

Wow, I went one paragraph without a joke, nice! So I don’t think I would be doing my audience any service if I didn’t comment some on Grove City. After all, GCC is where my heart is…so yes. Laura, my awesome friend from school, left last week for Mexico on a two week missions trip. She is majoring in Spanish and International Business, so this trip is right up her alley and I pray that she’s having an awesome time serving the people there but moreover serving God and fulfilling his plan for her. The guys of Third Floor Memorial Crawford are still the best group of guys with which I’ve ever been. They’ve taught me a lot about things, especially what it’s like to live for God, I can’t imagine a college experience without that awesome supportive environment. So guys, if you’re out there, you rock, and I can’t wait to come back to school. People always ask me, “So how’s school going?” I tell them, “Amazing, best time of my life! I can’t wait to go back,” and sometimes I get, “Why?!” as if school were something not to be enjoyed. School has never really been that way, and now that I feel that the things I’m learning matter all the more, the experience is magical. Combine the education with the extra-curricular experience, and I can’t see being anywhere else. God placed me in Grove City, I’m trying now to discover what he wants me to do.

Majors are a tricky thing. We all choose majors, but I don’t think we see their magnitude. I guess I’m being general and specific at the same time. I suppose majors like Business or Economics aren’t very specific and can open up lots of opportunities; but when you talk about Electrical Engineering or Math Education, that’s what you’ll do once you leave. So I guess you can say that I’m having my doubts. For those of you who don’t know, I have changed my major from History Education to Math Education. I am still doubtful, but I remain in prayer and I am confident that if I continue to seek God that he will reveal his plan for my life.

I’ve been doing a lot of Bible verse memorization lately. When I set out to do it at first, I had my usual, mortal doubts, but (and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised) it has been amazing how much I have been blessed through it. In my third month now, I have written a Bible verse on an index card and carried it around in my pocket, whipping it out whenever a dull moment arises (trust me, there are more than you think). Now, I do not profess to know every single one of the verses I have memorized, but I am familiar, and I do know a decent number of them through and through. Stale time at the PG has been wonderful because it has allowed me to go back and memorize a big stack of verses I tug along with me to work, and it’s awesome to feel God tugging at my heart whenever a verse comes up. The PG has been a blessing in disguise because I mostly work alone during not very busy times and it has allowed me to do a lot of thinking.

My spiritual walk has had its highs and lows lately. As I said, the verse memorization and the introduction of continual devotionals and prayer have been tremendous highs, but I can feel the world always trying to pull me away from spending time with God, perhaps this here is one of those things. There are days where I can really feel God with me, and days I feel him faintly, and I think I sense that because he’s trying to make me realize that he truly is the most important thing in my life. I say that a lot, and if people ask me that in person that’s what I will tell them. But when it comes down to knowing in your heart if God is the one thing in your life that you love the most, it means showing it! And for me, showing has turned into a lot of talk, and a walk that isn’t where it could be. Romans 12:1 is perhaps my favorite verse: “Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God – this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is – his good, pleasing, and perfect will.”[my italics] I’ve been frustrated lately concerning my call and where God wants me to go, but I think God is just telling me, “Alright alright, Tyler, calm down. Be patient. I’m in control. You need to live completely for me and stop concerning yourself with things that are of this world, things that are fleeting. Rather, renew your mind; then, and only then, will you be able to discern my will for you.” That’s exciting! So many verses are popping into my head as I write and I could write on each of them for hours, but I want to finish my thoughts here. To know that there is a God who loved me so much by granting me eternal life in Heaven, and that he has a plan, a purpose(!) for me, is astounding. The Bible says, “It’s in Christ that we find who we are and what we are living for. Long before we heard of Christ…, he had his eye on us, and designs on us for glorious living part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone.” (Eph. 1:11-12) Nothing, anywhere, can offer me more intrinsic value and worth that those verses. There are countless more that affirm those statements, but if I ever need a shock, a spark of something that just fills all that I am with life and a sense of worth, it’s right there, and that something is God. If only everyone lived with that sense of worth. If only everyone knew that God has a purpose for their life, and that that God-given purpose is “good, pleasing, and perfect,” how different would the world be? I started this paragraph saying I’ve been having my highs and lows; this is a high. God “is a rewarder of those who diligently seek his will.” (Heb. 11:6). I’ve been distracted the last couple of days because I’ve conformed to the ways of this world; I think the momentum has just taken a turn for God.

Thank you faithful readers for sticking with me through the website change. Because I am rarely on AIM at home (because of some weird problem I cannot resolve), stick this site on your favorites and jump back here every so often. I should be updating more, especially since Penn State students are back in session and I’ll be bored. My guitar-stricken fingers have had just about enough for now. To think I’ve written the equivalent of a nine-page college paper is kind of sickening. I need some Nyquil.